


Let's Dance Like We're Making Love

by R00bs_Teacup



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, M/M, Music, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 04:26:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6180136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R00bs_Teacup/pseuds/R00bs_Teacup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos, Athos and Aramis's life, revolving around music and food. Vignettes, glimpses. Aramis is in love with Porthos, and Porthos and Athos are sort of forever kind of friends, platonic partners. It works for them all.</p><p>With a playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLVduM-W8GOJGqgf28-Zj4R3LHgVxzcwfP</p><p>Inspired by a Tumblr post about chubby/fat Porthos, lovely lovely headcannons that I used in this fic  (http://fandomteacher.tumblr.com/post/117438282553/modern-au-headcanon-chubby-porthos-but-really)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grief

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: grief (but no character deaths, death of a mother in past), recreational drug use (hash) in the past, Athos isn't very self confident, negative body image, Athos gets upset (Athos is bipolar, but he's just upset here), poor self confidence, I guess, violence (Athos hits Porthos. It's an accident), trust issues, character gets arrested (not one of the three main guys), criminality, suicidal ideation discussed, night-terrors (include a character committing suicide in-dream), they get drunk, Porthos tries to fight people (doesn't manage), broken family, Athos's mum says she lost a son,
> 
> See chapter notes for warnings per chapter.
> 
> title from a song by Ciara of the same name. It's a cool song.

They were dancing again, to Etta James, 'At Last'. Porthos's head cradled in Athos's hand, eyes shut, Athos doing most of the dancing and Porthos mostly just swaying along. Aramis leans in the doorway to watch. Athos turns Porthos, guiding him into a twirl. Porthos's big body moves gracefully, so lightly. Defying it's heaviness to hold him down. Athos catches sight of Aramis and stops short, Porthos bumping into him with a grunt, and all grace flees them both as they totter, almost falling. Aramis laughs.

"Shut up," Athos snaps, flush crawling up his neck into his cheeks. "Stop sneaking up on us."

"'e just likes to watch," Porthos soothes. "He's alright. You could make him dance, that might stop 'im, I guess."

"It won't. I want to dance with you, anyway," Athos says.

He turns on his heel and walks with purpose, and a second later his bedroom door snaps shut. Porthos saunters towards Aramis, sticking his hands in his pockets, grinning. Aramis opens his arms in welcome, and wraps himself around Porthos. There's a lot to wrap around, but Porthos is soft and warm and Aramis is well practised in the art of hugging him.

"He's had a bad day," Porthos says. "He's fine. Dinner?"

"Are you asking me if I'm hungry, or hoping the truncated sentence will be more persuasive, and asking me to cook for you?" Aramis asks, carding his hand through Porthos's hair, pulling him close.

"Hmm. Second one, I think. Not sure what you're on about, except that you were maybe offerin' t'make me food."

Aramis smiles, nudging Porthos to disentangle them. Porthos stays close all the way to the kitchen, then peers into the cupboards with Aramis, then tries to get another hug. Aramis, on his way to check the fridge and at cross-purposes and describing something with a gesture, walks into him and nearly elbows him in the nose.

"Sorry," Aramis says, laughing, turning to accept the hug. "I didn't know what you were doing!"

"Jus' snuggling."

Aramis untangles them again and gets out the chopping board and an onion, then hesitates. He was planning on making pasta sauce, but he's not sure they have cheese. He heads for the fridge again to check. There's no point feeding pasta to Porthos without cheese. Porthos will just shake his head sadly at you.

"Do you wanna run down the shop for some cheddar?" Aramis asks, rummaging around and finding only butter.

"No," Porthos says.

"I suppose I could make chilli, but you like that best with cheese, too."

"Could run down the shop, I suppose. For pasta?"

"We have penis shaped pasta," Aramis wheedles, remembering d'Artagnan's Christmas present, sitting uneaten in the cupboard.

Aramis turns to catch Porthos grinning, the pleased smile underneath, the fondness for d'Artagnan and Aramis, all present in the moment Porthos puts together 'food', 'Aramis cooking', 'd'Artagnan's present', and 'Aramis knows I like the silly pasta'. Aramis follows Porthos's thoughts to their soft-expressioned end and steps up to kiss him. It's the first kiss of today, Porthos getting up ungodly early for a swim and to cycle out to Athos's Mum's to cook her breakfast.

"I could do the comtesse, tomorrow," Aramis says, smudging the heavy bag under Porthos's eye. "You look tired."

"'s'okay. She don't like you much," Porthos says, grinning again. "I'm good. Tomorrow's Friday. Woo."

"I love you," Aramis says, then kisses Porthos again, indulging himself, shutting his eyes to savour it. Porthos hums.

"Are you making dinner?" Athos asks, stiffly, from the doorway. Porthos pulls away, turning to Athos. "Only I was going to make something."

"Aramis is gonna make us cock pasta," Porthos says, bouncing to Athos's side and enveloping him in a hug. Athos remains stiff and cold, but Aramis knows that that won't deter Porthos, and that Athos doesn't really mind the hugging. "I'm going to get cheese."

"Cock pasta," Athos says.

Porthos goes to get it to show Athos, pointing out the different colours and turning the packet so Athos can see the shape as many times and at as many angles as necessary. Athos just stares at it, so Porthos shrugs and brings it over to Aramis.

"Want anything else from the shop?" Porthos asks.

"Don't buy biscuits," Athos says.

"Why not?" Porthos asks, spinning on Athos.

"You bought biscuits yesterday, and then ate them all in the living-room and got crumbs everywhere. And on Monday you ate an entire packet of jaffa cakes and got orange sticky on my book. And on Tuesday you ate a litre of Ben and Jerries,"Athos says.

"So?" Porthos says, a defensive note creeping in."

"It's not healthy," Athos says, turning on his heel again and leaving. Porthos slumps. Aramis glares at the Athos shaped gap.

"No cookies," Porthos says. "Maybe I'll get a melon for desert? Or strawberries."

"You can have biscuits if you want," Aramis says, wrapping his arms around Porthos's middle, spreading his hand over Porthos's stomach.

"He's not making a dig about my weight," Porthos says. "Just about the amount of sugar I've been eating this week."

"Still. He's being a dick," Aramis says. "You've been comfort eating, nothing wrong with that, not the way you do it."

"I like melon, too," Porthos says. "I'll get melon."

"Alright. As long as you know there's nothing wrong with buying cookies if you want them," Aramis says. "I'll get the sauce and things on."

Porthos shuffles out, and Aramis puts on the some music. He tries Bowie, then Mumford and Sons, then nicks Porthos's laptop and puts on Nine Simone. He's singing along to 'Feelin' Good' when Porthos gets back, and Porthos tugs him close to spin around the kitchen, bumping off things. He dips Aramis, then pulls him close again, turning them and turning them and swinging his hips, laughing, nosing into Aramis's hair.

"The water's boiling," Aramis says.

"Stars when they shine, you know how I feel," Porthos sings, dipping him again.

"Food," Aramis says. "Won't make itself."

Porthos rights Aramis and pushes him towards the stove, crowding up behind him and plastering himself over Aramis's back to watch him add the pasta and give the sauce a stir.

"I got you a present," Porthos rumbles, nose pressing into Aramis's hair again. Aramis snuggles back into Porthos's softness and enjoys being held. Porthos wriggles, and fishes something out of his pocket, dangling it. Aramis squints to make it out.

"Ooh, Kitkat! I've been craving one all week," Aramis says, snatching it out of the air. "Been so busy though."

"I know," Porthos says.

"Got a cool old guy in today. He's got carers and long term health problems, and he's been giving them all the run around. His carer brought him in because he kept pretending to fit, he has seizures, and she couldn't tell if he was faking it. He also escaped her and ran into the pub to buy himself a pint. As she was talking to us, he imitated her behind her back and got her expressions spot on," Aramis says.

"Hee! Awesome."

"I got weed on," Aramis says. "That was fun. A little boy, six years old, kept telling his Mum he needed the loo and she was convinced he just wanted to sneak to the vending machine. She was so embarrassed. The kid just looked down at himself and said 'I told you I was going to tinkle, Helen'."

Porthos cackles with laughter. Aramis smiles. He can feel Porthos's body shaking with mirth.

"Helen," Porthos says, breathless with amusement.

"He used 'Mummy' the rest of the time," Aramis says.

"God, that's even better. I told you I was gonna tinkle, Helen!" Porthos says, giggling.

"Is dinner ready?" Athos says, coming in again.

"Yeah, pretty much," Aramis says. "I need to drain the pasta. I'm stuck, though."

Porthos lets him go, much to Aramis's disappointment. Then again, food's pretty much the only thing Porthos likes more than cuddling.

"I need to tinkle," Porthos says, then wanders off giggling to himself.

"Story from work," Aramis tells Athos.

"Did he buy cookies?" Athos asks.

"No idea," Aramis says, pouring the pasta into the colander, seething quietly.

"I didn't mean to do that," Athos says. "I'm just angry."

"Then apologise to him," Aramis says.

They eat around the kitchen table, a slightly awkward silence between Athos and Aramis. Porthos either doesn't notice it, or ignores it in preference of enjoying his food. He eats two plates full, then sits back, eating slices of cheese.

"I got melon for afters," Porthos says.

"I'm sorry," Athos blurts, finally.

Porthos stops slicing more cheese and looks at Athos for a long time, then snorts and shakes his head. Athos shrugs and points at Aramis, and Porthos grins.

"Oh shut up," Athos grumbles, getting up and gathering their plates. "How was mother?"

"She bought a picture of John Bottega and put it up next to her picture of Jesus, and stuck a sign underneath that says 'black Jesus'," Porthos says.

"Her picture of Jesus is actually a picture of Obi-Wan Kenobi," Athos says. "Do you think she was joking?"

"Yes," Porthos says. "Definitely. She's as sharp as you are, Ath, you know that. She still does the crosswords half your speed, and she also still says you should visit, as well as me."

"Not now," Athos says.

"Your father has been dead for nearly ten years, and frankly I wouldn't mind having a lie in sometimes," Porthos says.

"You said you didn't mind," Athos says, dropping all the dishes in the sink with a noisy clatter.

"Did I says I minded? I said I wouldn't mind a lie in. Sometimes."

"I'll get the melon," Aramis says, cheerfully.

Athos and Porthos have the 'mother' fight now and then and it always ends one of three ways- Athos cries, Athos breaks things, or Porthos eats every single thing in the kitchen. Aramis would rather like to have things to eat tomorrow without shopping. Porthos sighs, and Aramis remembers how tired he's been looking this evening and goes to him instead of the fridge.

"It's not fair for you to have live-in backup," Athos grumbles, but he goes to get the melon instead of continuing the argument.

"'mis has known you as long as he's known me, he's not biased," Porthos says.

"I don't make him have orgasms. You have an edge," Athos says. "It's not like I can just say 'I'll do that thing with my tongue' and get my way."

"I never say that," Porthos says, attaching himself to Aramis and pressing his face into Aramis's jumper. "I'm tired. Leave me alone, Athos."

"Sorry," Athos murmurs. "It's a bad week for me to have a bad day. How are you?"

"Alright," Porthos says. "Aramis has been taking good care 'a me. Feeding me."

"Good," Athos says. "I'll buy flowers for Saturday, and make you brownies for when you get back from the grave."

"Thanks," Porthos says.

"Melon, then bed-time," Athos says. "We should make dinner, the nights Aramis works late. Have something ready for when he gets back, or put his in the oven. Something."

They take the melon in the living-room and watch Pirates of the Caribbean. Athos makes popcorn halfway through, and then hot chocolate.

**

Porthos is lying on the floor in the living-room, V Bozeman 'What is Love' playing right beside him, speakers on the floor to make it vibrate. He's spread on his back, eyes shut, giant body still. His stomach rises and falls with his breathing, the soft curve of it leading the eye to the strong lines of his thighs, his calves, his bare feet dark against the pale wood floor. His head's tilted back, his eyes closed, and he breathes in time with the music. Aramis walks softly through to the kitchen, where Athos is reading.

"He went to the graveyard this morning," Athos murmurs, getting up to get Aramis a cup of coffee then sitting to watch Porthos with him. "He misses her."

"I know," Aramis says.

Neither of them can do anything.

"I made brownies," Athos murmurs.

"I thought I'd cook empanadas," Aramis says. "I bought Ben and Jerries."

"Treville will be over later," Athos says.

"I bought four litres," Aramis reassures. "They'll be fine."

Porthos is listening to Tasmin Archer, now, her wondered-at-one-hit casting her voice through the house. Next will be John Lenon's 'Mother', and then Little Walter's 'Sad Hours', and then Bob Marley's 'Three Little Birds', and it will end on Eugene Moye playing J.S Bach's 'Adagio'. It's his mother playlist. Things that remind him.

Aramis sits in silence until the Adagio, then he gets up and goes to Porthos, lying down beside him, tucking himself in close and letting the notes curl over him. Porthos once said listening to music was like being underwater- an entirely new world, with unfamiliar currents, a body that has new weight and ways of shifting. Aramis likes listening with him. Porthos says the music takes their bodies and disperses them, merging them, so they inhabit the space as one. The strings and the body and the wood and all that for sound, sound like waves and the world and rich spice and sunshine and so much more, just from sound, just from notes hung together, just from the throat of the cello.

Porthos is always silent afterwards, hand resting between Aramis's shoulder blades. Aramis is pressed against his soft stomach, his thigh against Aramis's hips, his chest rising and falling under Aramis's ear, his breath stirring Aramis's hair.

"I've got you," Aramis says, even though it feels the other way round. "I've got you."

Porthos lies pliant under Aramis for a long time, eyes closed, his body big and soft and familiar.

**

"I always feel like I never got to really know her," Treville says, later, over ice cream. "Six years, we spent together. Me, and your Mum, and you."

"I don't remember," Porthos says, slow and sad, looking at Treville as if he holds the answers to the universe. 

They seem to have the same conversation every year, or have for the years Aramis has been around. The same conversation, the same answers to Porthos's questions, but Porthos always seems to need to be told. He can't remember the details, can't retain them. When there's a question about his mother, Porthos will usually look to Aramis or Athos to answer. Porthos just remembers the shape of things. The feel of them. 

"You were a babe in arms. A week old, when I met you. I thought I could save her, and I really tried. She tried so hard to survive, as well, but in the end she was just too sick. She hadn't had enough to eat for too long. She was happy, though. She taught me things that I had to know, had to pass on to you. Stories about her past, about her childhood, about Haiti. She taught me how to sing you Haitian lullabies, and where to go when I took you back there," Treville says. "We made notes and wrote things down."

"I miss her," Porthos says. 

"I know," Treville says. "I sometimes feel guilty for that, for making sure you knew her well enough to miss her, knew her absence. But you had to know her absence, to know her presence. To know her. I thought it important."

"Yeah," Porthos says. 

"Though, to be honest, the most useful thing she taught me was what to do with your hair. Honestly, I never knew it'd be so different from my own, but she left me to it once, just to see what I'd do. You had weird little dreadlocks by the time she intervened and taught me how to look after it. It is down to her that you didn't spend your youth with weird hair."

Aramis brings them hot chocolate and presses a kiss to the hair under discussion. Porthos leans into him, so Aramis stays there behind his chair. Treville passes Porthos the ice-cream, and Porthos looks at the empty tub he's been working on, and shows Treville the bottom with a guilty look. Treville laughs. 

"Go on, finish the other off, too," Treville says, smiling. "I never expect any less of you. You were always an ice-cream monster."

"Like in the Frog and Toad books?" Porthos asks, digging in. 

"No. Okay, like the cookie monster but with ice cream, then," Treville says. "Actually, you did once wear it on your head. You were having a tantrum, and I wouldn't let you get candy floss at the fair, and some helpful person bought you ice-cream, but you wanted candy floss. I said no because you'd just get it in your hair, so you stuck the ice-cream cone on your head and ran around screaming for a bit."

Aramis sniggers, leaning forwards to see Porthos's smile, to kiss the roundness of his cheek. 

"It was two months after she died," Treville says, quieter. "I didn't know what to do, so you just had ice cream in your hair the rest of the day. I had to carry you home, because you were so tired, and you cried all the way, and I thought I would never... but, nearly home, you pressed your face into my shoulder, rested your head there with a big sigh, and you were just a quiet little lump of a boy, your weight all in my arms, all soft and trusting. I knew it'd be okay, then. You didn't understand why she was never there anymore, but you trusted me, so... we did alright, didn't we?"

"Yeah," Porthos says, leaning into Aramis's side. "We did okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi Wan Jesus is a thing from the internet. I can't find where it originates, but here's a link to one incarnation http://9gag.com/gag/aXXvboV/mom-that-s-not-a-picture-of-jesus


	2. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: recreational drug use (hash) in the past, Athos isn't very self confident.

They're sat on the roof, side by side. Torn blue jeans, a splif between them, Porthos with a bandana and dreads, both of them with layered shirts. Porthos looks over Aramis's shoulder and rumbles out a gleeful little chuckle, a 'hee hee hee' that puffs against Aramis's neck. 

"Ooh, boy. Look at us!" Porthos says. 

"We look amazing. What were we doing?"

"You were probably skiving off uni, and I was probably skiving off work. That's what we were usually doin', back then."

"You talked me into skiving most of the time! Wasn't my fault my flatmate was a stoner."

"As I remember it, it was usually you buying the hash. I was stoney broke, that's the only stone I was."

"God, do you remember when I moved in?"

"Oh, yeah," Porthos says, grinning. "Saw you over a box of about six bongs, a bottle of vodka, and 'The Motorcycle Diaries', and knew it was love."

"Fuck off. That's never what was in that box."

"It was!" Porthos says. "Swear to God. You have three boxes of pretension literary books, that one with the bongs, and one with mix tapes. Actual tapes. In two-thousand and five."

"I was only seventeen. I was allowed to be pretensious."

"You were eighteen."

"I thought it'd be... I left uni halls wanting to experience the 'real' world. Thought it'd be a life changing experience, that I'd introduce you to Proust and Plato and we'd share conversations where I'd bring my learning and you'd bring your life experience, and it'd be amazing. But then you knew more about literature than I did, and when I showed you the protensious crap I was reading you'd always read it, and have about six suggestions of what to read instead of it, or to go with it if you liked it. And you made me read The Colour Purple, Giovanni's Room, and Maurice."

"Same idea as Plato and Proust," Porthos says.

"I thought the sun shone out of your arse. You used to let me nap on you, too, which was key. I fell in love with you over crappy paper-backs, cheap hash and even cheaper vodka."

"I fell in love with you when I saw you over that box. I did an' all, don't give me that look. You had so much defiance and fire in you, and you were just waiting to find somewhere you could talk until the world changed."

"You saw all that over a box of bongs?" Aramis asks, laughing. 

"Course. I'm a good judge of character."

"You're an awful judge of character," Aramis says. 

Porthos wanders over to the stereo, plugs his phone into the dock, and grins over his shoulder at Aramis. Aramis looks down at the photo, waiting. The strains of Roberta Flack make him laugh. Porthos comes and pulls him up, into his arms, right off the floor for a second. 

"First tiiiime ever I saw your face," Porthos croons, swaying them. 

By the end Porthos is singing it seriously, words soft in Aramis's ear, chest rumbling with it, breathing from his stomach. Aramis rests a hand on the swell of Porthos's stomach and listens, feels the music coming up out of him. Porthos hasn't got a particularly fantastic voice, but he's mostly in tune and he's Porthos. 

"Oh, oh, I know," Aramis says, squirming out of Porthos's arms to tap through Porthos's phone. He puts on Jhené Aiko singing 'Bed Peace', turning to laugh with Porthos. They dance together, silly dance moves and jumping. "Hit the blunt then hit you up to come to my place," Aramis sings. 

Porthos giggles, moving in close again and swaying them. Aramis sets them bouncing and feels Porthos's stomach jiggle, which makes him laugh again. Porthos sets off across the room, spinning and leaping and laughing until he falls into the arm chair. 

"Wake up, wake up, bake up, gotta heat the vape up, da da daada, better call your job tell 'em you won't make it," Aramis sings, pulling Porthos back up. "It was written for us, clearly. It's perfect. Our song."

"Go head tell your baby mama you gon' be with me tonight?" Porthos says. "Perfect."

Aramis snorts. They're swaying again by the end, though, and in the quiet afterwards it feels like a soft space fitting just them, and Porthos nuzzles close and whispers 'right here', and it is sort of perfect. 

**

"What's our song, Athos?" Porthos asks. "Me an' Aramis worked out one. Me and you need one, now."

"That's one of those pesky romantic things you do with people who aren't aro-ace and perfectly happy having you keep all those romantic-y things far far away from them," Athos says, dumping a bowl of mashed potatoes on the table. Aramis slides the last sausages onto the plate and joins them. 

"Come on," Porthos wheedles. "You might as well admit I'm your queer-platonic life partner."

"You're not," Athos says. 

"Does that mean one day you'll leave me?" Porthos says, pressing a hand to his heart. "You wound me, Ath."

"I made the salad," Athos says. "And the vegetables. Healthy things."

"Congratulations on being the Mum," Porthos says. "Our love is epic, Ath. Don't you love me?"

"You pick one," Athos says. "Will that make you stop?"

Porthos looks at the sausages, at his plate of mash, at Athos, then pointedly gets up from the table and walks away from the food. He looks over his shoulder with a pointed 'look how much I love you Athos' look. Aramis stifles his amusement. Athos gives Porthos a long empty stare, but when Porthos is out of sight he crinkles up with fondness and smiles. 

"You are his queer-platonic life partner," Aramis says. 

"I know," Athos says, shrugging. "Oh, fuck, he's picking fucking Leonard fucking Cohen. I'm the singing one in this imaginary thing, right? I mean that's me- like a drunk in a midnight choir."

"That's you," Aramis agrees. 

"Fucking spot on," Athos tells Porthos. 

Porthos beams at him and starts to speak, but Athos holds up a hand, shushing them both. 

If I, if I have been unkind,  
I hope that you can just let it go by.   
If I, if I have been untrue,  
I hope you know it was never you.

"Sausages," Porthos says. 

"Fuck you too," Athos says. 

"You're not unkind, or untrue," Porthos says. 

"I'm gonna pick one from your perspective," Athos says, getting up. 

Porthos beams, moving around the table to sit next to Aramis, bringing his plate with him. 

"I know what he's going to pick. You ever watch Starsky and Hutch, 'mis?" Porthos says. 

"That film you made me go to?"

"No. Not that travesty. Stupid Snoop Dog is no Huggy Brown to me," Porthos says. "Got to get me some Antonio Fargas. I never showed you that?"

"Probably. Shh," Aramis says, the song starting up. 

"Told you," Porthos says. "I guessed it!"

"How?" Athos says. 

"You used to get funny when Hutch'd play this and gave me looks. Thought you wanted to kiss me for the longest time," Porthos says. 

"Are you the girl in this?" Aramis says. 

"I wish I was the sunlight, gently reaching out in seas, and I wish you were a chilly morn, so I could warm your knees," Porthos sings. 

"Face!" Athos says, laughing, sitting next to Porthos so they're all in a line. So he can hit Porthos.

"Is this your guys' song because Athos wants to be protected, like in it, or because Porthos is just over protective?" Aramis asks. 

"The second," Athos says, at the same time as Porthos says, "the first."

Aramis decides it's probably both, and leaves the other two to their embarrassment. The phone keeps playing, with Angel Haze singing about Same Love. They listen in silence. 

**

d'Artagnan moves like honey, like water, like a bird. Everyone chooses a different simile. Porthos and Aramis are sat on the floor of the studio, watching, and Aramis things all the similes are wrong. He doesn't know much about dancing, but d'Artagnan is good. He knows that much. It's in the way his body moves in and out of forms and figures, the way he can hit the floor and make it beautiful, the way he can talk with his body. Porthos is humming along to the music. 

"What is this?" Aramis asks.

"Um," Porthos says, tilting his head. "Um... Shamir? I think? Yeah. Going in for the kill."

The chorus line comes in a second later, confirming it. Porthos nods, looking smug. He's wearing one of his tighter t-shirts today and he's like a mountain at Aramis's side, legs up bent at the knees making everything bulge. Aramis has a good long look, and misses the end of d'Artagnan's dance. 

"What do you think?" d'Artagnan says, bouncing over to them and then bouncing on his toes, restless energy coursing off him. 

"Why that song?" Porthos asks. 

"I want to ask Constance out," d'Artagnan says, flushing. "It's a pretty good hyping up song. Then I was listening to it, to hype myself up, and got distracted. Did you like the dance?"

"Yeah," Porthos says, holding out a hand to be pulled up. "You want it filmed?"

"Dunno. Maybe. I'm thinking of doing something for Constance, though, next," d'Artagnan says. 

"Ask her out first," Porthos says, slapping d'Artagnan's shoulder half in bracing commiseration and half in scolding. 

"What if she thinks I'm weird?" d'Artagnan blurts. 

"You are weird," Aramis helpfully points out. Porthos nods. 

"No, I mean... what if she thinks..." d'Artagnan gestures at the speakers. 

"You mean because you're andro?" Porthos asks. "Don't be a daft sod, Connie's queer as a coot. She'll get it."

"You think?" d'Artagnan says. 

"Yeah. Androgyny's right 'in' right now, innit?" Porthos says, slapping d'Artagnan's arse and wanders over to the sideboard where he dumped his bags, pulling out the camera and sound equipment. "Let's film this one. It's good."

Aramis goes to do the chores he has to get done today done, leaving them to it. He gets in plenty of junk food, and sandwich makings, and tortilla chips, and dips, and, on a whim, a Rihanna CD. When he gets back to the studio Porthos is sprawled on his back, d'Artagnan curled up on his stomach, using it as a pillow. They're both napping. Aramis opens the camera to watch what they filmed. Porthos prefers Aramis wait until he's edited it probably, because there are always bits where Porthos forgets himself and sings along and, sometimes, makes the camera jiggle by dancing along too. Aramis is giggling about one of those moments when Porthos wakes up. 

"Put it away," Porthos growls. 

"You're incapacitated by the pup," Aramis says, rewinding to watch Porthos singing and dancing again. 

Then d'Artagnan wakes up too, and Aramis makes a run for it. Porthos chases him in circles until Aramis tells him that there's lunch, then Porthos calls a truce. d'Artagnan gets into the chip and dip while they're chasing. He also finds the CD and holds it up in question when they go through to the small kitchenette. 

"Compulsory buy," Aramis says, shrugging. Porthos sniggers. "You can shut up, or I'll tell everyone what you bought last time we were at Ikea."

"What did he buy?" d'Artagnan asks. 

"Very sensible things, like Aramis's superbly sensible Rihanna CD," Porthos says quickly. 

They eat to the strains of 'We Found Love in a Hopeless Place'.


	3. Joy (Sorrow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: negative body image, Athos gets upset (Athos is bipolar, but he's just upset here), poor self confidence, I guess.

They're dancing again. Athos is cradled close to Porthos's body. Aramis can see the tears wet on his cheeks when he pulls away. Porthos pulls him in again, shushing him. Aramis goes to put music on, turning the radio to the first station playing something slow and soft. It's a lullaby, and Aramis hits the station right at the beginning. Porthos looks up at him, then focuses back on Athos.

All the Pretty Little Horses, Aramis remembers, watching the two of them sway, Athos fighting, Porthos soothing him, bodies twisting and entangling. Aramis can't place the singer until Diamonds and Rust comes on next, no chat between, and he remembers his mother playing it over and over the year his Dad was deployed over seas. Joan Baez.

Athos goes limp in Porthos's arms around halfway through the song and Porthos lifts him like a child, holding him like a babe in arms, swaying, Athos's face pressed into Porthos's shoulder, arm securely around Porthos's neck. Porthos is still shushing him. Aramis has been held in those arms, and is thankful beyond measure for the strength and certainty of them. Athos's arm goes lax, and he starts to snore, slightly congested. Porthos nods to the hallway and Aramis goes to open Athos's bedroom door, then changes tac and opening their bedroom door, instead. Porthos gives him a grateful smile and settles Athos on the bed, digging around in the closet until he finds the stuffed dog they've got for Aramis's nephew's birthday and tucking that in with Athos.

Porthos leaves the door open a crack, Aramis knows it's so he can hear when Athos wakes. He goes through to the kitchen and gets out ingredients for cookies, along with half the spice box. Aramis leans on the counter to watch as a dough forms under Porthos's skilled, quick hands. Porthos gets the patterned rolling pin he uses for speculaas. Aramis gets out a baking sheet and baking paper, and helps Porthos transfer the first batch to the oven. The biscuits are something Athos's father made, Aramis knows, and the smell will reassure him.

"You're wonderful," Aramis whispers to Porthos.

"He had a bad day," Porthos says.

He rubs flour into his forehead, presumably by accident. Aramis gets a clean cloth to wipe it off again, holding Porthos's chin. The radio is playing Simon and Garfunkle, so Aramis goes to plug in a device instead, using his own phone when nothing else pops up. He puts on Muddy Waters and turns it down, then heads back. Porthos is standing by the window, looking out at the street below. The sun's setting, turning everything red and that soft glowing gold of low light, including Porthos.

"You're beautiful," Aramis whispers.

"Someone told him he should move out of here," Porthos whispers. "Someone said that he was encroaching, that we were sure to want our couples space back. Someone told him that six years is rather over staying a welcome. Someone told him he wasn't welcome."

"I'm sorry," Aramis says.

"I ain't never, ever been as happy as I am when 'e's here," Porthos says, turning on Aramis, face fierce. "Never. I haven't had much cause for much joy in my life. I make the most and I know how to be happy and healthy, and it was never all bad. But he made me sing with life, made me thrum, made me laugh like I didn't know how, made me feel everything, made me raw and wonderful and so full of joy. I like living with him, more'n anything. He's funny and clever and makes my life better."

"People are dumb idiots," Aramis says. "They can't see things like that."

"Then they should learn. It's no excuse. There is no excuse for making people miserable. Why aren't people kind? It's so easy to be, it doesn't take much effort and the payoff is worth every ounce of energy. Athos is kind. Kindest man I know, apart maybe from you. He used to sit with me for hours, when I hardly knew him. On that wall, outside, waiting for Mum to come back and collect me. I did it for years, you know? Couldn't quite grasp what had happened. Used to curl up there, sometimes, and sleep the night. In case. Just had to be there, sometimes, and he'd sit with me. Eight years old and he knew to do that."

"He's amazing, I know," Aramis says, wrapping Porthos in his arms and holding him.

Porthos is a big man, and it often ends up with Porthos holding whoever is trying to hold him, no matter intentions. Aramis is good at this, though. He wraps his hand around the back of Porthos's neck and holds him like that, holds him in tight. The other arm he puts around Porthos, with Porthos's arm inside of the hug, Aramis's hand pressing into the small of Porthos's back. Aramis stands upright and encourages Porthos to slump. It works.

"He took me to ride the train, when were ten. We got on at Paddington and went all the way up to Carlisle, changed train, and on to Edinburgh. Just rattled up through the countryside, train fumes smelling like freedom to me, who never much left the city let alone going that far. Went up to Edinburgh and Athos's mother met us and drove out to the beach, and we stood by the water hand in hand and I knew that the taste of the salt on my lips was joy. First time I ever felt something so absolutely huge and encompassing that wasn't cold or hunger or grief or fear. I thought things that big were reserved for the bad stuff, but there on that beach by the cold grey sea the joy was so big it make me scream with happiness."

Aramis rocks them, letting Porthos draw comfort from him. He knows that while Porthos likes Aramis's voice, he gets most comfort from physical things. Porthos is a physical human, always touching and wanting to be touched, cuddling and snuggling and hugging, tugging people close. Aramis whispers 'hush' and Porthos sighs.

"I love you," Aramis says.

"I know. You make me happy, too."

"I know."

"I promise not to move out," Athos says, from the doorway.

Aramis lets Porthos go, but Porthos is rooted to the spot, eyes glazed. Aramis goes to Athos instead, holding out an arm in invitation. Athos gives him an abrupt hug, then touches his cheek and pulls away.

"You're always welcome," Aramis says. "With me, I mean. As in I can only speak for myself. I'm not trying to own the entire house. I mean-"

"I understood," Athos says. Thankfully. Aramis isn't good at silence.

They're about to have a moment of awkwardness, but then John Martyn comes over the speakers, singing 'Solid Air', and Porthos is across the room and wrapped around both of them, breathing deeply, body expanding to take in breath, expanding to envelope them.

**

Aramis marches along, arm around Porthos's waist, Porthos's over his shoulder. It's drizzling, so they've set a quick pace, but Porthos keeps grinning at him, and Aramis can't help grinning back.

"Hand, touching hand, reaching out, touching me touching you badadadaaa sweet Pooooorthos!" Aramis sings, laughing, nudging closer.

"Shut up," Porthos says, shaking his head, speeding up.

"How can I hurt when holding you. Ooooone touching one reaching out, touching me touching you, sweet darling Por!" Aramis sings.

"Por? Pore? No. Nope. No."

"Yup. Poor Por."

"I hate you so much."

Aramis laughs, letting go of Porthos to jog ahead, singing the snatches of the song he can remember. Porthos growls and comes for him, before he gets too much into it, thundering up the hill. Aramis dashes off. He's got a good turn of speed, but Porthos has endurance and he's got motivation to catch Aramis. d'Artagnan had been dancing to 'Sweet Caroline', and somehow the guy who they'd got in to dance with him had thought Porthos's name was 'porcupine' and had sung it at him. Over and over.

Aramis crests the hill and Porthos catches him around the waist, big arms tightening, lifting, spinning Aramis and then staggering. Porthos loosens his hold and they laugh, breathless, Porthos's stomach rising and falling against Aramis's back. Aramis's feet are still off the ground so he moves with it, laughing harder, flopping in Porthos's arms. Porthos sets him down and grins at him.

"Porcupine. What the fuck?" Porthos says.

"What a twat," Aramis agrees, leaning back against Porthos, tilting his head to see Porthos's face.

"Look at this," Porthos says, waving an arm at the view. There's mist and rain, layered in swatches, as far as they can see. A lone hill peak breaks out to the left, but otherwise it's sky and water and grey. "That's beau'iful."

Aramis looks, and sees grey and slanting rain that's getting heavier, and cold. He can see that's it's spectacular, in it's way, and there's a certain beauty in things like that, but Porthos sounds awed by it. Of course he is- Porthos is awed by everything. Aramis smiles, looking at Porthos instead.

"Mm, yes it is," Aramis says, cupping the round of Porthos's smiling cheek, feeling the dimples.

"Stupid," Porthos says, laughing, pulling back away. "No, really. I love stuff like this. We just walked up, and there it is- the world laid out. Sky beneath our feet. That thrill of finding it, the burst of it against our minds is just... it's like joy, innit? Like that Theatre of Cruelty, where's there's no choice but react, and you react before you think. Instinct. Catharsis. I dunno. Just like adrenaline and beauty and you."

"Me?" Aramis asks.

"Walked up here with you, got you here, just you and me. I hate being porcupine and being sung at like that, but you findin' it funny and playin' and being all silly is nice. You bein' you. I dunno, 'mis, I don't have the words right."

"Heaven has denied us it's kingdom, and the saints they're all drunk and howling at the moon, and the chariots of angels are colliding. Well, I'll run babe, but I'll come running straight to you," Aramis says, forgetting the tune, remembering only the words he wrote all over everything when they thought Porthos was moving to France. Porthos tightens his arms.

"Tha's about it," Porthos says. "Oh, no. I've got a better one."

Aramis can feel Porthos grinning against his neck. Can feel Porthos's stomach expand to take in air to sing. Can feel Porthos's muscles tighten around Aramis cradling him closer. He smiles, expecting something romantic, something quiet, something beautiful.

"You are my sunshine, my only you sunshine," Porthos bellows, singing out of tune in his enthusiasm, startling Aramis with his volume. "You make me HAAAAPY, when skies are grey!"

Porthos swings them round and round and laughs and laughs and laughs, until they fall, then they lie in the wet grass and cling to each other, grass and sky and world and everything. Inside and outside blurred, minds and bodies blurred.

Porthos, on their damp journey back down the hill to the car, sings the chorus over and over until he transitions into 'what a Wonderful World', imitating Louis Armstrong's gravel, singing into Aramis's hair.

**

Aramis fixes his tie and then turns, expecting Porthos to be ready. Porthos is usually ready first. Porthos, though, is wearing an over-size t-shirt, a jacket, and his boxers. It's going to be one of those nights. Aramis sits on the bed, getting comfortable, and texts d'Artagnan to say they'll be running a bit late.

"This jacket fits wrong," Porthos says. He takes it off, pulling on jeans. He pulls his leather jacket out, the one with the high collar and buckles, and then turns away from the mirror. "What do you think?"

"I think you're lovely," Aramis says, smiling. "You know I have a things about that jacket."

"Mm." Porthos says. He takes everything off, and starts again.

Fourty minutes later, all the clothes in the cupboard out on various surfaces, Porthos is naked, turning this way and that looking in the mirror, poking his stomach, frown deeply etched. He pulls on briefs and then a pair of suit trousers he had on ten minutes ago, and a purple shirt and bowtie.

"You look nice in that," Aramis says.

Porthos tugs off the tie and turns to the side, pressing a hand to his stomach. He tugs at the trousers, pulling them away from his thighs, down at the back.

"Everything's too tight," Porthos says, tugging fretfully at his belt.

Aramis gets off the bed and takes Porthos's hands, pulling them away, running his own hands over Porthos instead. Over his shoulders and back, pulling him close, into a hug, rubbing soothing circles.

"I think you look handsome," Aramis says. "Beautiful. Always. Every minute."

"I can't wear any 'a this."

"I don't care," Aramis says. "Whatever you wear, I don't care. God, Porthos, I never see anyone, or anything, or- I only see you. Whenever you're near, I can't think or feel or hear or see anything except you. You could wear any thing, look any way, be anything. You can do anything. I don't care, I'll always know you and love you and see you. I'll see you. I know what you look like. Porthos, my dear, dearest Porthos."

"I'll wear this, then," Porthos says.

It's a charity gala, d'Artagnan performing a fifteen minute piece with his students, the under-privileged youth who he and Porthos both work with. They miss the performance. They walk in, and Porthos is big, and beautiful, and fills any space he enters, making it breathe. Everyone looks. Porthos barely notices, cutting through with Aramis on his arm, making for d'Artagnan and the kids.

"Hey hey, P," one of them says, fist bumping Porthos. "Look at all these people, man! There's canapés, and little tiny sandwiches, and there's a guy who arrived in a sweet Rolls."

Porthos is drawn into a discussion about cars and the pros and cons of old versus new. He knows nothing about cars, but the kids ask his opinion anyway, tell him about pertinent points and wait for his verdict. After that he talks about wearing make-up with one of the younger boys, then about the rugby with two of the girls. Eventually he makes it through to d'Artagnan for a hug, then he's off schmoozing, bringing the kids into conversations, letting them talk to potential donors.

The gala is for 'local innovation', and there are a lot of people. Aramis finds a drink and stays in sight of Porthos. Whenever Porthos catches him looking his brow furrows, and he presses a hand to his side, his stomach, frown deepening. Aramis knows that Porthos is wondering, again, why Aramis chose him. Aramis knows that Porthos is every single kind of wonderful, but Porthos forgets, sometimes, that he's healthy and happy and beautiful, and then he forgets why anyone might like him.

The music strikes up, suddenly, a DJ who looks approximately twelve and might actually be approximately twelve, given the nature of the projects and charities raising money and awareness tonight. The first song played is 'You Make me so Very Happy', by Blood, Sweat & Tears, and Aramis shoves through the crowd and grabs Porthos, pulling him to the dance floor. Porthos blinks at him, mouth opening to protest, but Aramis sings along, and light dawns, and Porthos goes all soft and gentle and gathers Aramis close for a few bars.

Angel Haze 'Battle Cry' comes across the speakers next, and Aramis is all set to dance with Porthos again, but Samara, one of the women who Porthos works with, comes sweeping across the room and gives Aramis a stern look, so Aramis retreats to watch. The two of them press together forehead to forehead, Samara's hair tied back but still spilling against Porthos's skin, Porthos's head tilting, his lips brushing her cheek. They dance with their heads held high and everyone watches and neither of them miss a step or skip a beat.


	4. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: violence (Athos hits Porthos. It's an accident), trust issues, character gets arrested (not one of the three main guys), criminality, suicidal ideation discussed, night-terrors (include a character committing suicide in-dream),

Athos hits Porthos on Wednesday. It's been raining all day and Athos has been out in it most of the day, walking. He comes home, and Porthos tries to make him a cup of coffee, but when he sets it in front of Athos, Athos looks up at him with a cold, closed face, and then he hauls off and hits Porthos hard enough for Porthos to see white, and then Athos dumps the coffee over Porthos. That's how Athos tells it. Porthos says that Athos is having a bad day. 

Porthos has to go to the hospital to get x-rays. Athos makes him, when his face swells up. Aramis is on duty in the ER, stitching up a laceration on someone's butt, when he hears Porthos talking in the next cubical. Aramis hastily finishes the stitches and slaps on some gauze, hurrying out from behind the curtain. Sure enough, Porthos is sat next door, Athos hovering anxiously beside him, Gina looking him over. 

"Gina, can we swap?" Aramis asks, tapping her shoulder. 

"Oh, sure. This one's a bear, though, so watch yourself. He tried to headbutt me," Gina says. "Did you get the guy who 'sat on a bottle'?"

"I think he actually did sit on a bottle," Aramis says. "There are no cuts inside."

"That's a first. Is he stitched?" Aramis nods, and Gina gives him a wave and hurries off. 

Aramis pulls the curtain and turns on Porthos and Athos. They both look slightly guilty, though Athos is too busy jittering to look anything for long.

"Headbutting the nurses?" Aramis questions. 

"Tried to touch Athos," Porthos mumbles. "Doesn't want t'be touched today."

"Did you try to touch Athos?" Aramis asks, getting hold of Porthos's chin and turning his head, feeling around the swelling. 

"'course not," Porthos mumbles. 

The skin under Porthos's eye is split, next to the scar already there, and his nose has obviously been bleeding, but there's no obvious structural damage. Aramis cleans the cut and Porthos's nose and leaves the rest. Dr Lemay comes around the curtain. 

"Ah, a punch to the face?" Lemay asks, coming over. 

"Mm," Aramis says. "I cleaned up the cut, don't think it needs stitching."

"No, looks alright," Lemay says, feeling over the cheek the same way Aramis did. "I think I'll take a a few x-rays to be safe, but I think you're all in order. Ice, painkillers, and rest."

"It hurts to talk," Aramis says. 

"Oh? Hm. X-Rays will tell us," Lemay says, looking at Porthos once more then nodding and hurrying back out. 

The X-Rays reveal two old, healed zygomatic fractures that Porthos knew nothing about, but nothing new. He and Athos get sent home with a couple of ice-packs. Aramis finishes up his shift at eleven thirty, and expects people to be in bed by the time he gets home, but Athos and Porthos are still up. Etta James is on, and Porthos is swaying with Athos in his arms, half dancing. 

"You should both be resting," Aramis says, heading for the kitchen for food. 

"We are," Porthos says. 

The record starts up again, set on a loop. 'Trust in Me'. Aramis puts a quiche in the oven and goes to watch. Porthos is cradling the back of Athos's head with one big hand, singing along quietly, big body moving easily to the music. 

"I do trust you," Athos whispers. "I do. I was just confused."

Porthos doesn't answer, just keeps swaying. Athos takes up the song, after a while, his voice hoarse and breaking on the words. Porthos doesn't answer, just dances them, eyes shut. Aramis wants to send them to bed, but he's seen them do this before. Porthos says it's to heal. Aramis had thought, before he met Athos, that bipolar was just people who were moody or overly happy. Now, though, he's seen it tear both of the people he loves up and spit them out, and he doesn't know what to think about it except to know that he hates it. 

"I trust you," Porthos says, at last. 

The song loops on, and they sway on, but the tension between them is gone. Healing Aramis thinks, smiling. 

**

"Charon's been arrested again," Porthos says. 

Aramis and Athos, curled up together on the sofa in pyjamas, having a lazy day, both tense up. 

"What for this time?" Athos asks. 

"Don't say it like that. He got no choice. He's got no fucking options, does 'e? What's he supposed to do? Get a job? He's an ex felon with three c grade GCSEs, and a kid. What's he supposed to do?" Porthos says, frustration, sadness and anger warring in his tone. "What's he supposed to do."

"What did he do?" Athos asks, more gently. 

"Joy ridin'. Took a striped car for a run with 'the boys'," Porthos says, sounding weary right down to his bones. "I need to bail him out."

"Do you have the money?" Athos asks. 

"Yeah. Been saving. I've got it," Porthos says, sighing, rubbing his face. "Stupid fuck. Wish he'd..."

Porthos heaves another sigh. Aramis gets up off the sofa and goes to get himself a jumper. Porthos gives him a grateful, surprised look when Aramis puts his shoes and coat on and grabs the car keys. Athos gives him an approving nod. Porthos doesn't let Athos go to the station with him when he goes to get Charon, because Athos has been arrested a few times, too, when he was bad, and doesn't like it there. Aramis hadn't known Porthos long, last time. 

When they get in the car, Porthos puts the radio on, and Rock City's 'Locked away' blasts at them. Porthos punches the radio off again, breathing hard, pressing against the car door. The seat's forward, Athos was the last to sit there, and Porthos's knees are bent up against the dash, stomach pressing to his thighs. Aramis waits for him to calm down, then suggests he put the seat back. Porthos goes flying back and glares. 

"Too fucking fat to sit in the fucking car," Porthos says. 

When they get to the police station, Porthos seems to know all about where to park and where to go and who to see. He signs some things and hands over his bank card, and then they sit and wait. Eventually Charon comes out from the back, a clear plastic bag containing his stuff held loosely. He grins at Porthos and swaggers over. 

"Hey hey, Fat Bastard! Ta, mate. Come on, let's get out of this dump," Charon says, slapping Porthos's shoulder. 

Porthos doesn't move. Charon's face turns dark with anger. Aramis stays very still and very quiet. He's seen Charon hit people for looking wrong.

"Some friend you are. Got your fancy white people friends, and fancy rich people house, and fancy rich people car, now, and leavin' me in the gutter, eh?" Charon says. 

"I just used... I've been saving, for six years," Porthos says. "Six years, Charon. What'd you think it was for? I been savin' since she was born."

Charon goes very, very still, then he curses and turns on his heel. Porthos leaps up and grabs hold of him, holding him back. 

"Don' make it worse," Porthos says. "Please. Just stop."

Charon goes limp, turning in Porthos's arms, starting to cry. He clings to Porthos, and Porthos holds him, but he looks distant. 

"What were you gonna do?" Charon asks. 

"Dunno. Started out savin' for a deposit for Flea, so she could get off the estate, but then I had more, so I was savin' to buy somethin', but Flea always said no to it so I just kept it in savings for Grace when she gets old enough to need it," Porthos says. "There's still some left, and I'll keep savin'. We'll get 'er to college and do her a-levels. Even university, maybe, if she wanted that."

"Can you get it back?" Charon asks. "Get it back. Leave me in there."

"No," Porthos says, pulling away. 

Charon wheedles, yells, and stomps about, even threatens to hit Porthos, but Porthos just says 'no' in his big, calm way, and stands, waiting for it to blow over. Charon is sulky and quiet on the drive to the estate, climbing out of the car and slamming the door without inviting Porthos in. Porthos sits for a moment. 

"Wait here," Porthos says, eventually, climbing out after Charon and going up to the house. 

Aramis can see Flea, Grace on her hip. She and Porthos talk on the doorstep for a while, then Flea transfers Grace to Porthos's arms. Porthos comes trudging back, Grace with him. Aramis goes to the boot to get the booster seat stashed back there- they mostly use the car for transporting Porthos's collection of honorary nieces, nephews, and god-children around. 

"Hi Gracie," Aramis says. 

"We're gonna go to the aquarium, then eat back at ours. We'll have a film and fall asleep on the sofa, then come home for bed," Porthos says. 

Aramis nods, smiling, to reassure Porthos that this unexpected kid's day out is fine with him. He loves the aquarium, anyway, and Grace is fun to have around. She's sharp, and likes to tease Porthos. She swears colourfully at the woman who makes a loud homophobic remark about Aramis and Porthos, which doesn't help her picture of them at all but makes Porthos laugh so hard he has to sit down for a bit. Aramis suggests Grace shouldn't swear, but Porthos shrugs. 

"Least of my worries, really," Porthos says. "She'll learn all too soon how people will judge her for the way she talks. I ain't gonna do that."

Once they've dropped Grace home again, Aramis takes Porthos to Athos and sets about cooking the pasta left over from dinner with Grace into a pasta bake for Porthos to eat. Porthos rests against Aramis, eyes shut, barely touching his pasta. Athos and Aramis exchange a long, worried look. Athos goes to the kitchen to get cake, but Porthos doesn't touch that, either. They set out things on the coffee table, trying to tempt him. 

"What are you doing?" Porthos asks, shaking himself out of his funk, laughing. "Are we having a party?"

There's popcorn, cake, crisps, cocktail sausages, the pasta, fudge, and pineapple chunks on cocktail sticks with cheese, all arrayed in front of Porthos. Aramis shrugs. 

"You weren't eating things," Athos says. "Why aren't you eating things?"

"Just not hungry," Porthos says, subsiding back into gloom, reaching over to tug the ipad toward him. 

He puts on 'Say Something I'm Giving up On You' by A Great Big World and weeps. Aramis and Athos hug him and let him cry out his grief. 

"Oh God, I love 'im," Porthos whispers, voice wrecked from crying. "I love 'im, I do, I always will Can't change that. But I can't do it, I can't do it any more, it's not fair. 'e asks too much 'a me. I'm gonna lose 'im, gonna let go and lose him, and lose Grace and Flea too, and lose that whole part of my life."

"I'm so sorry," Aramis says. 

"I had nothing and no-one, and I trusted him with everything, and now it's gone and I don't trust him at all. I'm giving up on him. I gotta give up," Porthos whispers. 

"We know," Athos says. "We know. It's alright. We trust your judgement. We trust you."

Porthos curls into their arms. Athos sleeps in with them, that night, both of them keeping Porthos close. 

**

Aramis yawns. It's half past eight, he's reading a text book, and he's bored. Athos is in the living-room reading Terry Pratchet, making Aramis jealous. Aramis looks down at the little blocks of letters. He yawns again, pushing the book away. It's quiet, the house is warm, nothing is conducive to him doing work. Everything is still, as if it's late. Aramis pushes his chair back, tipping back onto two legs. 

Porthos barells out of their bedroom, trips over the carpet, makes a wounded sound and runs for the kitchen. His eyes are wide and unfocused, his bare chest heaving with exhertion. Aramis is out of his chair, moving to assure him. Porthos tears away, though, twisting and stumbling for the living-room. He crashes down next to Athos and pull him into a crushing hug. 

"Athos, Athos," he says, voice cracking and high pitched. 

Athos wraps his arms around Porthos. He's as practised at hugging Porthos as Aramis is, and can wrap himself around Porthos like a pro. Porthos clutches Athos to him, holding him tight, hands fisting and shaking to get him closer. 

"Hush," Athos says, frowning at Aramis, who shrugs. "Hush, love. I'm here."

"No, don't go," Porthos whispers, then something uncomprehensible, then he whimpers. Aramis is across the room before he can think, hovering nervously. 

"I'm not, I promise. I promise, I promise, I promise. I won't. Never," Athos says, a littany that goes on with promises falling out of his mouth in a tripping rush. "I swear it. I won't. I promise."

"Never," Porthos says. 

"Never," Athos agrees. "I will never die like that."

Aramis pieces it together and sits behind Athos, pushing his hand into Porthos's hair. Porthos turns his head away, pressing his face further into Athos's shoulder and neck. Aramis holds Athos's shoulder, instead. Porthos starts to cry. They stay like that for a long, long time. Athos making promises every time Porthos makes a sound that might be words. 

Porthos doesn't really calm down. He clings to Athos tightly, shaking and murmuring wetly into his ear almost incessantly. Athos tries to assure Porthos he's there and holding him and not going anywhere, but it doesn't really do anything. Athos is twisted uncomfortably, and every time he shifts Porthos makes a frantic, helpless sound. Aramis tries soothing him, too, but Porthos just says Athos's name very firmly. 

"Porthos, love, Athos isn't going anywhere, but the way you're sitting is hurting him. So you need to get hold of yourself and-" Aramis is cut off. 

Porthos pulls his face away from Athos's neck to glare at him, pink and wet and angry. Aramis waves at him. 

"Let him go," Aramis says, touching Porthos's cheek. "Come on, love. Trust us."

Porthos goes still, and makes another unhappy sound. He pulls Athos close to him, resting his head on Athos's shoulder, blinking at Aramis. 

"Trust us," Athos says. 

Porthos loosens his hold, then tightens it again, burying his face in Athos's shoulder. He shakes his head.

"Need to move, darling," Athos says, pulling away slowly. 

Porthos lets him. Athos pulls away, getting up to stretch out his back with a wince. Porthos sits, hands resting on his thigh, stomach rising and falling. Tears fall over his cheeks, and his breath shudders sharply a few times before turning back into quick gasps. He won't look at either of them. 

"Some dream," Aramis says, slumping back beside Porthos, resting a hand on Porthos's back, above the line of his boxers and trackies. 

Porthos curls up against the sofa cushions, next to Aramis. Athos sits on his other side, plastering him against Porthos's side and back, arms around his stomach and chest. 

"What did you dream?" Athos asks, softly. 

"I think you killed yourself," Aramis says. "He dreams something similar sometimes. It's not usually this bad."

"I didn' wake up," Porthos moans. "Couldn'... thought it wasn' a dream."

"Oh, love," Aramis says, cupping Porthos's face. Tears dampen his hand. 

"I can' shake it," Porthos whispers. "Athos."

"It was a dream," Athos says. "I'm not dead. Haven't ever done that."

"Wanted to a few times," Porthos mutters, leaning back into Athos. 

"So have you," Athos says. 

That's news to Aramis, and makes him violently hot and then violently cold. Neither of the others notice his shock, so he covers his reaction and pats Porthos's cheek. 

"Not going anywhere," Athos says. "I promise. I won't do that to you. I know how hard that would be for you, I won't do it to you."

"Can you read sommat to me, maybe?" Porthos says, whispering again. 

Athos picks up 'Snuff' and reads a few pages out, and Porthos finally begins to calm himself. Aramis gave him a hug when he shifted Aramis's way. Porthos's big body was still heaving in order to breathe. Eventually that lessened, Athos's voice soothing in a way Athos's assurances hadn't. Then finally Porthos stills and quiets, eyes shut, resting in Aramis's arms. 

"There you go, darling," Athos whispers, stroking Porthos's hair. 

"There I go, eh?" Porthos says, smiling. "Bloody stupid dream. It went on for... for weeks. Had a funeral and everything."

"Was it a nice funeral?" Athos asks. 

"Too soon," Porthos says. "Bit soon."

Athos smiles, leaning into Porthos, head appearing to Aramis over Porthos's shoulder. Athos rests there, eyes closing. 

"I'm tired," Athos says, yawning. 

"I'm not sleepin'," Porthos says, emphatically. 

They lie in that heap for a while, Porthos occasionally shivering. He turns, though, into Athos's arms and presses close again, more tears coming. 

"Trust me," Athos says. "I'll take care of you. I promised. You know I will. I won't do that, because it would hurt you, and I will always do everything in my power to make sure you don't get hurt. You know that. I won't do it because I love you too much. You know I love you."

"I know," Porthos says. 

"Trust it," Athos says. 

Porthos nods, and pulls away again. Athos gets up and leads Porthos to Athos's room, settling him on the bed. It's a queen, and Aramis knows from experience the three of them won't fit. He goes with them anyway and sits with them. Porthos holds onto Athos's thigh. They all wait for sleep to come. Aramis talks idly about his day for a while, telling them about the test he has coming up. They both already know about the test. He tells them anyway. It's his last one. Afterwards he's entirely qualified. 

"Shut up," Athos says, eventually, flopping back against the pillows with a groan. 

Porthos laughs, low and delighted. Aramis and Athos grin at each other. Mission accomplished. Aramis gets up and puts Athos's wifi music spaceship thing (according to Athos it's a wireless speaker. Aramis is sticking to spaceship thing) and connects it to Athos's ipad, lying on the side beside the speakers. He puts on music, then Athos makes an impatient gesture for the ipad and changes it to an audiobook. Aramis sits to listen, stroking Porthos's hair, rubbing his shoulders. Athos curls up against Porthos's chest and hugged. Porthos falls asleep, eventually, and Aramis and Athos keep vigil.


	5. Happiness (Ever After)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: they get drunk, Porthos tries to fight people (doesn't manage), broken family, Athos's mum says she lost a son,

"Maybe we should get married, pop out some babies," Aramis says. 

He's paging through a Vogue, sitting on the sofa with Porthos. They're at Cafe Nero, waiting for d'Artagnan to join them. 

"Who's poppin 'em out?" Porthos asks, gazing into his hot chocolate as if it holds the secrets of the universe. He's tired, Aramis thinks, or maybe bored. Or both. "Neither of us are in possession of a womb."

"We could go out and propagate and then return to one another?"

"I think adoption's more socially acceptable," Porthos says, looking up and smiling at Aramis. 

The song in the background changes to Bruno Mars 'I think I'm gonna marry you'. Porthos laughs, giving Aramis a squeeze, then goes back to his cocoa gazing. Aramis shifts so he's more firmly in Porthos's hold, using his stomach as an arm rest. Vogue is heavy. d'Artagnan runs in out of the rain and waves, nearly hitting someone behind him, a goes to the counter. There's no queue, but he's having the usual 'do you have almond milk? No? Anything lactose free that's not soy? No? Alright, I'll get an Americano then' dance. So it takes a while. 

"Hey guys," d'Artagnan says, dropping into a seat opposite and slurping his coffee. "Ow! Hot!"

"Hello," Porthos says. 

d'Artagnan grins at him and digs around in his pockets, pulling out gold-wrapped something and dropping them on the table before Porthos, sitting back. It's three small Lindor rabbits. Porthos gives a lopsided grin, picking them up and standing them up in a line before unwrapping one and biting the head off.

"I love these," Porthos says, sitting back with a contented sigh, dipping his rabbit in his cocoa. He needs both hands and Aramis is dislodged and forced to re-arrange himself. 

"We got that funding you went after," d'Artagnan says, smiling. "From Anne and Louis Royal. Finally heard. Apparently you swung it by taking Aramis along. She likes Aramis."

"I know women," Aramis says. 

Porthos beams at them both, lips smeared with chocolate. Aramis feels suddenly overwhelmingly fond of him. He leans in to kiss the chocolate away, then kisses his cheek too, on impulse. Porthos grins at him. 

"Oh stop it," d'Artagnan grumbles. "It this a working lunch?"

"No," Porthos says. "It's an excuse to see Aramis lunch. At dinner time, it's half six, d'Art."

"Oh, right," d'Artagnan says, frowning. "This rain is messing up my internal clock."

"What about the one on your wrist?" Aramis asks. 

Later, walking home, Aramis links his arm with Porthos's. Porthos is chatting about work, about one of the kids, about d'Artagnan. He's not really paying much attention to anything else, so Aramis steers them around the lamp-posts. Athos is home, when they get there. He glances up at them when they come in and asks the time, then goes to get his meds before coming to poke around the kitchen making noises about dinner. Aramis leaves him to it and goes to shower and change (he's still got his scrubs on, and he stinks). He falls asleep, meaning to just sit down to put socks on. 

He wakes to Billy Strayhorn singing 'Lush Life'. He expects to find Athos and Porthos dancing, but they're not. They're sat on the sofa, Athos using Porthos as a giant cushion, back to him, head on his stomach, feet up on the end of the sofa. Athos is reading, Porthos is playing with Athos's hair and singing bits along. 

"What happened to making dinner?" Aramis asks, leaning in the doorway. 

"Romance is mush, stifling those who strive, I'll live a lush life," Porthos sings at him. "We're getting' take out. Indian. I got you a veggie Biryani, and some popadoms, and some onion bhajis."

Aramis takes the armchair and puts his feet up on the coffee table. Athos gives him a brief smile, before burying himself in his book again. Aramis tells Porthos about the women who came in today, and brought her cat with her. Porthos laughs a rolling, loud laugh, and gives Athos a squeeze. 

**

They're dancing. They're all out, d'Artagnan and Constance and Aramis. Athos and Porthos are on the dance floor, bumping and grinding as the song says. Athos is laughing hard enough at the hook that Porthos is half holding him up. He gamely backs it up though, pushing close to Porthos. Aramis watches them, perching on a bar stool, half listening to Constance's shouted conversation. Porthos comes over, Athos under his arm, sweaty and grinning. Athos has a hand over his mouth, eyes shut, laughing. 

"What is this?" Aramis yells, leaning close to get his lips near Porthos's ear. The song changes as he asks. 

"It was 'Back it on up', by Last Offence," Porthos shouts back. "Now I think it's... oh, there you go, DeScribe and Y-Love. I think it's 'Change', somethin' like that. Awesome. I love gay night!"

Athos leans into Porthos's side, smiling broadly. Aramis turns to the bar to order Porthos a gin and tonic, and Athos a Virgin Bloody Mary. Athos looks a bit confused, when Aramis hands it to him. 

"There are vegetables in my drink," Athos yells. 

He drinks it anyway, and smiles at Aramis. He's been drinking lemonade all night, Aramis thinks a Bloody Mary, even if it's virgin, is a step up. Porthos is twitching, restless, wanting to go dance again already. Constance gets off her stool and tugs Porthos towards the floor, leaving their drinks in d'Artagnan's care. Athos climbs onto her stool and they all watch. 

Constance dances as dirtily as she can, opening her legs and bumping her hips and pressing her bum into Porthos. Porthos holds her hips and they dance closer and closer until they're kissing. d'Artagnan grins, nudging Aramis, and Aramis grins back. Porthos and Constance tangle together as the song and the beat changes, dancing close enough it's not clear where one ends and one begins. Athos slides off the stool and goes to join them, and gets enclosed between them. 

Porthos is firmly drunk, firmly belligerent, and firmly sweaty by the time they leave. He's trying to lure d'Artagnan into a fight. Aramis, who is used to Porthos wanting to scrap as soon as he gets a bit tipsy, has Porthos's arm held tightly. One of the bouncers gives them a look as they leave, draped all over each other, and Porthos tries to punch him. Aramis grabs him and pulls him away, and Porthos takes a wild swing at Aramis, instead. He misses, and subsides, grumbling, putting a heavy arm around Aramis's shoulders instead. 

"Home," Athos says. "I'm ringing a taxi. Chips?"

They head for the Sunshine Kebab House, Porthos singing loudly and out of tune. Aramis can't even work out what he's trying to sing. 

"Wise men says," Athos sings, probably in self defence, "only fools jump in, but I can't help falling in love with you."

Constance and d'Artagnan join in, and they drown out Porthos. Porthos is rude to the man who takes their order and challenges him to 'have a go' outside. Aramis apologises and leaves a generous tip, shoving Porthos into one of the metal chairs set out. Porthos glares at the man behind the counter.

"I'd have took him, easy," Porthos says. "I'd have kneed him in the bollock, Aramis!"

"Very nice," Aramis says, patting Porthos's shoulder. 

Athos brings Porthos chips covered in cheese and ketchup, and a battered sausage, which appeases him. He's eaten everything in front of him, plus half of d'Artagnan's chips and all of Athos's kebab by the time the taxi comes. Constance has eaten the other half of d'Artagnan's chips, her own kebab and chips, and Aramis's chips. Porthos is beaming at her. 

"I think he wants to marry her, now," Athos says. 

Porthos tries to fight the taxi driver. The taxi driver ignores him. Aramis gives him a generous tip, too, and he sails away to drop d'Artagnan and Constance, leaving Aramis and Athos to get Porthos inside and to bed. He's singing Elvis, and has a fist-fight with Aramis's pillow, then wrestles with the duvet, then passes out. Athos laughs. 

"He's..." Athos says, looking down at Porthos, a helpless look on his face. 

"Yeah, I know," Aramis says. "How can he be such an arsehole and we still find it endearing? I think probably because he's so useless at actually fighting."

"Ineffectual."

Aramis nods. They watch Porthos sleep for a while, and then Athos says goodnight and retreats to his own room. Aramis finds himself humming Elvis as he gets ready for bed. Porthos wakes up enough to notice and laugh at him, and get Aramis into a strangling, sweaty, naked cuddle. Aramis has to admire a man who can get completely naked while asleep and drunk. 

**

The invitation comes on a Tuesday. Athos turns it over and over in his hands, Porthos gives him long, gentle, sympathetic looks. Aramis assumes it's family business. Athos used to do that with doctors' missives, but he doesn't anymore. He just gets on with it, now. No doctor dramas these days. Which is good because he used to look askance at Aramis for being medically affiliated. 

"It's from my mother," Athos says, still turning the letter. 

"You going to open it?" Aramis asks, not particularly interested in the outcome. He's tired, he's been on nights and wants to go to bed. Porthos has been glaring when Aramis goes to get up, though, so he's stuck here until this resolves itself. 

"Wasn't planning on it," Athos says, and gets his own Porthos glare. Athos rolls his eyes, but tears the envelope open, snapping out the folded paper inside. "Oh. It's an invitation to dinner, to all three of us. How nice. I hope she isn't cooking, she keep nearly setting the house on fire."

"That was once," Porthos says. "An' I'm cooking, so no worries."

Athos perks up a little. Aramis yawns, eyes heavy. He really wants to sleep. He nearly goes head first into his bowl of milk, cereal all eaten. With a big handful of fruit added by Porthos, who seems to be on a health kick recently. Mostly Aramis and Athos's health. 

"Sunday. Oh, maybe Aramis is working," Athos says, hopefully.

"Obviously I checked," Porthos says. "It's his three off, right in the middle. Good timing. Aramis, you can go to bed now."

Aramis goes, feet dragging. Porthos comes and tucks him in, which is really quite nice. Aramis forgives him for switching crisps out for nuts in Aramis's mid-night snack. He forgives the pointed lunchbox of salad, too, when Porthos kisses him and rumbles nicely at him and strokes his hair till he sleeps. 

The comtesse has her son's old mistrust of the medically affiliated, and looks at him a bit oddly, but she shakes his hand and makes conversation with him and is generally polite and welcoming. She's affectionate toward Athos, a little reserved and wary but affectionate. Porthos she dotes on, taking him to the kitchen and showing him her stash of biscuits and chocolate, and the fruit bowl full of grapes. She pats Porthos's stomach and watches him cook and kisses his hair when he's sat at the table. Aramis expects to see jealousy on Athos's face, but he only finds resignation and acceptance. 

"Porthos suggested I do this," the comtesse says. "In the name of family, and building. My husband tore my family to pieces, I know that. I knew it then. I couldn't do anything, and I lost my son because of it. I haven't lost both my sons yet, Porthos assures me."

"No, mother," Athos says, stiffly. He manages a small smile. 

"Good. I have also been informed that Aramis is part of my family, now. I have been told I have to take Porthos's word for it, and forgive Aramis for choosing such an awful career."

"Thank you, I think," Aramis says. 

"We trust you, I have been told," she says, gravely, nodding. "I think I can manage that."

Aramis blinks. He glances at Porthos and Porthos's face confirms that this is a big deal. Aramis bows his head and mutters another 'thank you', feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

"Very well. It's lunch time, I suggest we have wine," the comtesse says, beaming around at them.

Porthos doesn't let them have wine. He makes them coffee and fusses until they all eat some fruit, and then sits down in the living-room and munches through two packets of biscuits and three KitKats, watching Jeremy Kile. Aramis sits with him. Athos and the comtesse clear up in the kitchen. Aramis hopes they're doing some bonding. 

"I wonder if she's got some fudge?" Porthos says, looking around. 

Aramis laughs, moving from the arm chair to the sofa. He wraps his arms around Porthos's stomach, pressing a kiss to the curve. Porthos smiles down at him, and Aramis kissing that smile, too. 

"I love you," Aramis says. 

Porthos beams at him, flicking through channels for a while. He ends up on a music station, face softening, wrapping his arms around Aramis. 

"What is it?" Aramis asks, kissing Porthos's cheek, then his lips. 

"Something Beautiful, Jacob Banks," Porthos says. "Us, and Athos, and the comtesse. Family. Something beautiful."

They listen, smiling against one another's lips, Prothos's eyes shut. Athos comes through and smiles at them, the same smile Aramis gets when he watches them dance. The comtesse comes through, too, and guides Athos to an armchair. Athos resists being sat down, and offers his mother his arm, instead. They dance, and Porthos's breath catches, and Aramis turns to watch. 

_Oh, ooh oh, that's something beautiful. And that's something beautiful. Whoa, oh ohh. That you are here, here with me, and that's something beautiful._


End file.
